Chapter Text
It was worth it. They are worth it.
(He is worth everything.)
And so he said as much (barring that last bit), his chin held high, almost defiantly. As if expecting his statement to be challenged. He stood with his two feet firmly planted on the ground, ever-shifting as it were. He held his arms crossed over his chest, perhaps in somewhat of a protective stance? After all, it was rather intimidating to be called upon by Him, of all beings. Not to mention a rare occurrence. He was usually made to deal with the others - those who had sent him out in the first place. He only ever reported to them. He was nobody special to be summoned so highly. It was most unnerving.
In an attempt to distract himself, he let his eyes roam freely, taking in his surroundings as he waited for a reply or comment. A dismissal, even. Anything, really. Anything but this drawn-out silence.
The room was, well, not quite a room. More like a space. A never-ending space, yet still seeming confined somehow. There were no walls to lean up against and no proper floor to bear the weight of nervous visitors all but quaking beneath their skin. Yet there was a sense of structure to the area, despite its properties clearly exceeding the known limits of three-dimensional space. It was neither dark nor alight and strangely enough, his vision suffered no strain, which made him briefly wonder if these events were not unfolding within the limitations of his imagination. What if he was dreaming? Just how long had he been here? But a few moments? Hours? Time, he realized, was irrelevant.
All of it ... it was other-worldly. (Even more so than he had gotten used to.)
It had to be a dream.
"Never doubt your own senses." A voice startled him out of his musings and he searched the room for its owner, finding no one. It was unsettling and his retort was slow in coming as a result. Too slow for the voice could be heard once more.
"You would vouch for them, then?"
Cutting straight to the matter. Yes, well. He could do that. He was malleable. Or at least, he liked to think so. One did not make it to his position without some measure of adaptability. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he hoped that he didn't sound too pleading. "Give them a chance."
"I dare say they have had plenty."
He nodded, figuring that He could see the head gesture despite His lack of apparent corporeal form. "Perhaps. But we cannot give up. Not now. There is hope, still."
There was a long pause, followed by a disapproving sound. Almost like a grunt though that was highly improbable, for obvious reasons. But the thought did make him want to snicker. Instead, he settled for biting his tongue and straightening his shoulders.
"Tell me more about this hero business." There was definite curiosity behind the voice's directive. And the sudden change of subject surprised him.
"Have you not read the report?" Why was he being interrogated if He had not even read the report?
"I have read the conclusion. And your recommendations."
"Then, why ...?" He could not hide the confusion from his tone.
"I would hear the details from you." The voice brooked no argument.
"That would be," he paused for a moment, not wishing to sound uncooperative through his choice of words. "That would take some time to recount." A long time, he thought to himself.
A chuckle resonated around him and he believed it to be more eerie than amusing. A feeling of dread descended upon him, clutching at his heart.
"By now you must know that time is of no consequence to me."
Yes. Yes, he knew that well enough. And what choice did he have, besides? He couldn't very well leave. Aside from not knowing where to find the exit seeing as the door had apparently disappeared, no one dared say no to Him. Even though he was tempted. He was near desperate to go back, the lure pulling at him with uncanny force.
And there was that chuckle again, quickly turning into something deeper and far more menacing as a rich laugh enveloped him, sending all his senses on high alert.
"You wish to return to them."
He bowed his head. Was it in shame? His hands now lingered at his sides, fingers clenching and unclenching. He was tense and could feel a lick of anger worming its way to the surface. Why? Why this reaction?
"Such loyalty from a mere observer."
He glanced up, and then further still. With his eyes fixed on the ceiling, ever-shifting just as the floor beneath his feet, he furrowed his brow. "Did I not say they were worth it?"
His question was not met with an immediate answer, which rankled his nerves. By the time the voice was heard again, he had left soft impressions in the palms of his hands in the shape of half-moon crescents.
"What of young Turner?"
He choked on a swallow, feeling any control of the situation slowly slipping from his grasp. "What about him?"
Impossibly enough, he could feel a pair of eyes bore into him. And through him. He felt violated somehow. Which the next spoken words only served to confirm.
"You have fallen for him."
Not a question, that. More like a stated fact which he neither openly confirmed or denied. But it left him feeling somewhat vulnerable and very much like an incompetent fool. As if he had failed. And perhaps he had in a way because when he thought about Aidan, well ...
"Who has not?" he wondered out loud, to his own chagrin.
"You know you cannot go back." Was that a hint of compassion in His tone?
He merely nodded, not trusting himself to attempt further speech just yet.
"Very well, then. We shall do this the other way."
He shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy. The other way?
"Have you had physical contact with most individuals found in your report?"
Physical contact? What? "M'sorry?" Whatever did He mean by that?
"A touch. Any kind of touch. It could be merely a handshake."
He allowed himself to remember and nodded once again. "Yes, for the most part."
"Very well. Then if you would be so kind as to make yourself comfortable, we will proceed."
Suddenly, the room had its own settee with cushions made of a deep red fabric, accompanied by an upholstered armchair of the same coloring. The wood was of excellent quality, he could tell. It reminded him of a certain English lord's parlor with its luxurious furnishings - of the likes he had never seen before. He hesitated, uncertain of what was expected of him.
"You need only to relax. Sleep, if you prefer. I will take care of the rest." The voice was calming. Almost soothing. He moved towards the armchair.
"I will visit your memories, along with those of the others who crossed your path during your brief stay amongst them. This method should be more thorough than any written report or verbal account, allowing me to live through every chapter of your story. Their story. Let us see how worthy of my blessing they truly are."
The chair was less comfortable than it had first appeared; maybe he should have chosen the settee. Though none of it mattered within a short while as he felt his mind slowly fall into a sluggish state, nothing but the occasional pinching (were those memories being plucked from him?) stopping it from spiraling into total numbness. He barely registered the flicker of images dancing across the back of his eyelids, else he might have recognized the young man with the solemn face as the lone figure traveled the beaten path that would eventually lead him to a crossroad.
One that would require important (irrevocable) choices.